


15 (revised)

by AllotropicBi



Series: The Lord of the Onion Ring [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 15:11:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5095301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllotropicBi/pseuds/AllotropicBi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an extended version of chapter 15 of "We're a Power Couple and Everyone Knows It (But Us)" for those of you who wished to see a clearer resolve/approach to the matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	15 (revised)

**Gru:** _You doing okay today?_

Bucky looks at the text. He takes a deep breath and thinks about how to reply, how he could say no, or even thank you, but he does neither.

**Bucky Barnes:** _live by th words of jean jacques rousseau_

He chews his lower lip, hoping that by throwing Steve’s ‘blank slate’ thing back at him doesn’t come off as too standoffish. Yeah, he needs to back off from Steve a bit to breathe and stop himself from doing anything foolish, but that doesn’t mean he wants to lose Steve altogether.

**Gru:** _Roger that._

***

Bucky needs better friends.

Okay, that’s a lie. He loves his friends, he really does. He just wishes they kept their noses out of his business. Albeit it’s out of care for him, but could they not just… Let Bucky handle it?

“We already talked about it,” Bucky mutters, sprawling across Clint’s couch. He’s just glad Nat isn’t here to nag his head off about it as well.

“Wrong. _You_ talked about it. I had to wait for myself to sober up to talk about it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Bucky groans. He doesn’t, he really, really doesn’t. It doesn’t matter anyway.

“Too bad, because I do.”

Bucky groans as he sits up, fixing his friend with a glare. “It’s not a big deal, alright? He’s a grown man, he can fuck whoever he wants.”

“Yes, he can,” Clint agrees. He takes up the empty space beside Bucky and nudges his knee against Bucky’s. “But that doesn’t mean he’s allowed to hurt you in the process.”

“He didn’t hurt me, Clint. I’m not fifteen. And there was a reasonable amount of time between me and her.”

Clint rolls his eyes, then straightens up his posture and clears his throat. “Alright. You talked. Now it’s your turn to let me talk.”

“We’re not – ”

“Yeah, yeah, I know you’re not a ‘thing’ but that doesn’t change anything. If you’re not anything more than what you say you are then none of this should have happened.”

“You make it sound like it was his decision alone. I had a part in this too, Clint, don’t victimize me.”

“Hey, I’m not… Just hear me out. I know you both decided for that to happen, but it doesn’t… Ugh, I can’t say this in any way that won’t make you whine like a little shit and tell me I’m wrong and that Steve is a saint. Alright, scrap that. Yes, it was a mutual decision. But it was his decision to keep the distance between you two, so on his part it kind of sucked, and _don’t,_ ” Clint says sharply, stopping Bucky just as he opens his mouth to cut back in.

“Don’t defend him for a minute. Save your breath, Buck. You might tell me you’re not bothered by this, and you might not be. But I’m bothered by it. I think it was a dick move. You can be as reasonable or fake-mature as you want, but that doesn’t change this. You’re allowed to be a little mad at him for what happened. In your _workplace_ , Buck. I’m not telling you to hate him, I’m just telling you to not let yourself get tangled up in this so far that you can’t stop yourself from getting hurt.”

“I won’t get hurt,” Bucky retorts curtly. Clint sighs, knowing he’s lost the fight by pulling that line. He didn’t mean it that way, but he can see Bucky closing off.

“No, you won’t. Because I won’t let that happen. You don’t look out for yourself enough, Buck.”

With that, Clint gets up and leaves Bucky sitting alone to soak up what Clint said. It’s not easy to take it in, to reason that Clint might be right. And maybe, if he looks deep enough under the layers he’s built, Bucky can see that he was a little hurt.

Ending up in Steve’s bed last night was not part of his plan to deal, to step back and take the hint, but it happened. He was frantic and disoriented and it happened. The fact that Steve anchored him and soothed him for hours until he finally fell asleep worries him some. It won’t happen again, he decides. But it’s been a while since he got through a night like that and actually managed to go back to sleep. Maybe he should tell Clint that, then see what he thinks. Then again, it would probably be better to keep it between him and Steve. It’s not like he’s proud of it.

Bucky sinks into the couch, partly wanting to gouge his own eyes out. Why does it have to be a bigger deal than it was?

***

Steve doesn’t expect to see Natasha at lunch, but given he keeps on top of his work and has no excuse to stay in, he can’t help but be dragged out. His stomach whines at him when Natasha leads them to a coffee shop. They can’t stock nearly enough sustenance for what he needs for two back-to-back afternoon classes.

“So what’s up?” Steve asks when they’re finally sat down in one corner, Natasha with her black coffee while Steve sips on a caffè latte, a cheaply adorned sandwich before him. He’s going to complain to Bucky about his friends depriving him of real food.

“You tell me.”

Steve frowns. “Nothing.”

“Really? I heard you got some stuff going on.”

What...? Unless Bucky told Natasha about his side job, Steve can’t imagine what she’s talking about.

Natasha rolls her eyes and runs a finger along the rim of her cup. “I know about the stripping thing without even consulting Bucky. It’s not that. You like visiting Bucky at work?”

Is this… “Is this an intervention?”

“If that’s what you want to call it.”

Steve tries to read her, but it’s futile. He should know it from the few times he’s seen her before, because she’s got the best poker face he’s ever seen on anyone, but he’s still hoping it’ll give something away.

Natasha huffs. “Fine. I have to get back to work soon, or else Tony will kick my ass for not getting him his fine imported coffee beans to him on time.” She pushes out her chair and stands up, glaring at Steve. “You need to sort yourself out, Steve. Whatever’s going on with you and Bucky, or what _isn’t_ going on, you need to be careful. In my books, he comes first, and I won’t let someone fuck him over for nothing. If you need to talk to someone I’ll be glad to listen, but don’t give him the wrong ideas, and don’t do it in a place where he has to go almost every day.”

***

The whole afternoon Steve can’t stop thinking about what Natasha said. He turns over her words in his head a hundred different ways, and even though he gets just as many meanings from it, they all point to one thing: Steve fucked up.

He just tried to give Bucky a hip bump to keep him back. Bucky couldn’t possibly want anything to do with him, and now that he’s done this it might have had the desired effect with the unwelcome repercussion of hurting Bucky. He didn’t mean to. It’s the only truth screaming at him until Bucky comes home later that night.

He can try and tell himself as many things as he wants to, and they might even be true, but in his thoughtlessness action that had nothing to do with Bucky and everything to do with Steve’s lack of foresight, Steve never had a pure intention of hurting or effecting Bucky in any way. Even the need to push him back a bit hadn’t occurred to him then.

“What did I do, ma?” Steve whispers, tucking his knees in close to his body. “When will I get anything right?” He stays like that for a long while, a deep upset making his stomach uneasy.

 _Every action has an equal and opposite reaction_.

Steve scoffs. Of course, of everything Steve remembers from his meagre education it’s Newton’s Third Law. _Thank you, high school physics. You have been useful to me exactly zero times in my practical life._

Somehow Steve loses track of time, but he can’t imagine he lost it to recalling the basic principles of physics. That would just be nerdy. That’s a Bucky type of thing to do.

Speaking of, that’s the sound of the key in the lock, and –

“Hi,” Steve says as soon as Bucky walks in. He startles himself, not having expected himself to speak.

“Hey,” Bucky replies, a tight smile tugging at his lips. Steve decidedly doesn’t like that.

“You, uh. How was work?”

Bucky shrugs. “Fine, same old. Not that busy today.”

“You hungry?”

“I guess.”

Steve chews the inside of his cheek and frowns, heading into the kitchen for a distraction that will keep him from thinking too much. It’s all well and good while Bucky’s in his room, but then he comes back out to wash up some dishes in the sink and doesn’t speak. Steve inhales deeply, stops cutting the onion he was hacking away at, and turns around.

“Uhm.” His stomach is alight with a fluttery sensation that makes him feel like he needs to throw up. The way Bucky’s shoulders square don’t do much to make him any less nervous. “About the other day…”

“Don’t,” Bucky says quietly. “It’s fine, just. Don’t.”

Steve makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. Apologize? Ask if Bucky’s okay? Ask what happened to give him nightmares? He can’t do any of those things, the words all stuck in his throat. Natasha didn’t specify what he was meant to do here.

“It was… not the best idea for me to do that after –”

“Steve,” Bucky cuts him off, turning around and surprisingly meeting his eyes. “It’s okay. Drop it.”

“We’re good?” he asks tentatively. Bucky smiles, a bit more relaxed, then reaches out to shove Steve’s shoulder lightly.

“We’re fine.”

***

Oh shit.

Bucky bounds out of his room, eyes wide and flitting across the apartment.

“Steve?” he calls, then hops over the sofa across the living area to Steve’s door. He knocks rapidly, repeating Steve’s name.

“Come in,” he hears, and as soon as Steve says it Bucky is looking rapidly around Steve’s room, eyes landing on his phone.

“Don’t look at your phone.”

Steve frowns and glances to where it’s sitting on his bedside, then raises an eyebrow at Bucky, and oh  _God_  Bucky knows what that means. They lunge for the phone at the same time, but Steve’s the first to get to it, a string of curses leaving Bucky’s mouth.

Steve opens his messages, and Bucky’s busy drowning in humiliation, his hands dragging down his face. He groans when Steve doesn’t say anything and stares at his screen.

There’s a maximum of five seconds of silence before Steve bursts into laughter, falling back on his bed.

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky whines helplessly, tugging his hair and trying to grab at Steve’s phone, as if it’ll undo the damage.

Steve’s still laughing, gasping for breath when he finally says, “Th- that’s a picture… Of my  _ass_!”

Bucky’s cheeks immediately flush with colour. He shoves his hands into his pockets and grumbles to himself, trying to get someone to end his life right now.

Once Steve’s somewhat composed, he sits up and attempts to regard Bucky seriously, pursing his lips to fend off a smile. “Bucky,” he says slowly, “why did you send me a picture of my ass?”

Bucky mumbles.

“What?”

“I was trying to send it to Rebecca,” Bucky snaps, hoping Steve will let it go. Unfortunately, Steve is a little shit and never lets Bucky’s torture end.

“Your sister? Buck…?”

Bucky scowls at a spot on the floor. “She got me a camera for my birthday and I told her she shouldn’t have but she told me I could repay her with pictures of your supposedly cute butt, and since the idea crossed her mind she wouldn’t stop nagging me.”

Steve’s mouth twitches. “Last time you were much more certain about the cuteness of my butt.” He doesn’t give Bucky a chance to recover from his flailing to get a word in, picking up his phone to admire the picture again. “You know this is some really good photography. That’s a grand picture of my ass.”

“Better than the ones you took,” Bucky says for lack of anything better to say. Why, why,  _why_  does Bucky not just keep his mouth shut?

“Oh?” Steve says, quirking an eyebrow and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Speaking of, what did Nat do with those pictures? She never told me.”

“Are you telling me you just gave her pictures of our asses to her without knowing what she was going to do with them?” Bucky asks incredulously.

Steve shrugs.

“She put them in a frame,” Bucky mutters. Naturally, Steve wants to know what kind of frame, and, since Bucky goes red in the face, he wants to see it too.

“This is beautiful,” Steve says, tracing the silver hearts around the butts with admiration. “Our butts make a really cute couple.”

Bucky pushes Steve out of the way and takes the frame from him, shoving it back where it came from (a safe space in the back of his closet, thank you). He directs Steve out of his room and tells Steve to go do something productive so he can study, not acknowledging the dull, barely there burn of regret and want in his stomach from Steve’s words.

He goes back to his coursework, but only after a considerable amount of effort to stop thinking about Steve. Not so much the fact that he hates their whole platonic dance around each other despite the obvious pull between them (at least on Bucky’s part). More of it is from the anxiety that’s gnawing in the back of his brain at the memory of the previous night where he foolishly went and curled up beside Steve to quell his mind from the nightmare. Before Steve even woke up, Bucky slipped out and returned to his own room. It helped, sure, but that was more of a problem than anything, because there were few things that let Bucky sleep so peacefully after a night like that. Bucky can’t let himself rely on that, not if he and Steve are to remain whatever it is that they are. For his own sake, Bucky can’t let that happen again.

***

Steve only teaches two classes today, so things are pretty slow. There are a few meets coming up, but none that requires any heavy paperwork or planning. He doesn’t have to deal with any students, since no one “grazed their knee” or broke their neck trying to watch him walk away from them (in all seriousness though, no injuries).

He’s using his spare time leisurely, nose buried in his notebook as he scribbles away having been suddenly inspired by the unusual, eerie calm of an empty gym hall. Give Steve the name of one person that doesn’t scream ‘POST APOCALYTIC ZOMBIE WARZONE’ to, and he will set them straight until they’re scared shitless, convinced they will die the next time they set foot in the damned thing.

“What’s that?”

Steve slams his notebook shut reflexively, his head snapping up just in time to catch the smirk on Sharon’s lips. Steve feels the tips of his ears getting warm, but he refuses to let it go any further.

“Oooh, now you’ve gone and done it Rogers. Spill. What’s the juicy content in there?”

“Nothing,” Steve mumbles, leaning over to put the book into his sports bag.

“Nothing like love letters? Or wait,” Sharon says, followed by a sharp gasp. “Steve, my  _God_ are you writing porn?”

Steve narrows his eyes and turns his back to her, pretending to check his email on the computer. “No.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me that,” Sharon challenges, so Steve does just that, turning his head only to deny her again. “That’s a shame,” Sharon sighs, hopping onto an empty spot on Steve’s desk that isn’t infested by Minions. “A hot guy like you writing hot smut? I’d take that over 50 Shades any day.”

Steve scoffs and gives up faking being preoccupied by his empty inbox, swivelling the chair to level her with a disgusted expression. “You should take  _anything_ over 50 Shades any day. That’s terrible mommy porn that isn’t even real BDSM and shouldn’t exist in anyone’s hands. I could write you something infinitely better than that.”

“My, is that an offer?” It seems Sharon is only satisfied when Steve finally blushes a bit, laughing her way out of the office. “Don’t think I’m letting you off the hook, Rogers. One steamy paper on my desk by noon on Friday, understood?”

Steve groans to himself and drops his head into his hands. If Sharon wants a service like that, Steve refuses to do it without paying for the mental damage he’ll have to endure.

***

Mark the Lawyer seems like the first decent blind date Bucky’s been on in a while. Maybe Natasha’s stash of people to hoard off on him isn’t so bad.

At least that’s what he thinks for the first half an hour when they’re getting to know each other while eating dinner. It’s all fun and games until you get a lawyer talking about their job, then they just don’t shut up telling you about this case, that co-worker, this rival law firm that has ‘no fucking clue how to handle the DEA,’ and a billion other things that Bucky couldn’t care less about.

He’s just about ready to give up and pull some sort of excuse to leave when Mark throws him a mischievous look. Bucky has to give Natasha props for picking out the hot guys, because somehow Mark pulls the expression off well enough to pique Bucky’s previously deflated interest.

“What say you and I head somewhere a little… unorthodox?” Mark drawls in a way that reminds Bucky of Steve, but ten times less effective. Forcing himself to stop letting Steve interrupt his thoughts on a blind date with someone who could potentially have potential (yes, Bucky believes that’s a valid way to describe someone), Bucky agrees without thinking twice.

That’s how they end up at The Peacock nightclub, or in other words, Steve’s workplace. Just when Bucky thought he finally found a candidate to keep his mind off of Steve while also having a decent date.

Bucky has a hard time not screaming running. Would this be considered stooping to Steve's level for payback? “What are we doing here?”

Mark gives him this look like he thinks Bucky is cute and innocent, which,  _no_. “Sometimes lawyers gotta loosen up too,” he explains, his voice a bad attempt at a low purr. Bucky’s suddenly starting to regret letting Steve move in with him, because it’s slowly ruining every possible thing he could ever enjoy about anyone else.

“Isn’t this the type of joint you’d want to avoid?” Bucky asks, stalling as much as he can. They took a taxi here, and even though it’s left now, Bucky’s more than willing to call up another one just to go home.

Mark licks his lips and gives Bucky a sly grin and, oh,  _that_ works. “Not tonight.”

With that, Mark leads a reluctant Bucky into the club, and Bucky can only pray that Steve won’t pop up somewhere, even though he knows very well that Steve is working tonight.

It’s kind of awkward, the transition from supposedly formal rambling about himself to how Mark now wants to grind against Bucky from behind, his hips moving to the beat of the music. Mark seems to be enjoying it after a couple drinks (maybe a little too much for Bucky’s liking), but Bucky’s struggling to see the fun in it.

He grabs a glass of scotch in hopes of blurring his nagging conscience, repeatedly bringing back the thought that Steve is going to show up at some point. Mark grudgingly follows behind Bucky and eventually they settle at a table somewhere off the side of the main floor.

“Havin’ a good time?” Mark asks, and Bucky nods with a sheepish smile. White lies to people he hardly knows don’t hurt.

Since Bucky’s being such sore company and the main stage is filling up, Mark’s attention strays, and so does Bucky’s, though in a different direction to his date.

Steve is three or so tables away, outright flirting with a customer until he tucks a twenty into his waistband and he gives her this devilish grin. Even if he tried, Bucky couldn’t miss Steve. It’d take a lot of effort to try and pretend like he didn’t immediately recognize the person he lived with. No, Bucky can’t miss Steve, but what he could do is look away and pretend he doesn’t, but it’s hard to tear his eyes away when Steve starts smiling coyly, dancing loosely before moving closer to settle on the customer’s lap. He blames it on the booze.

Bucky’s breath catches, and he must be pretty obvious, because Mark nudges his foot under the table, and Bucky is all too slow to tear his gaze from his friend. Mark follows his line of vision and smirks when he notices what Bucky was looking at.

“You want some of that, honey?” Mark asks, getting up from his seat and making his way to Bucky.

Bucky falters. Yes, he does, but not from The Lawyer.

Bucky’s eyes stray to Steve again, and he just about saves himself from biting his tongue when he notices Steve’s looking right back at him. Steve shoots him a playful grin, not breaking the eye contact before pointedly rolling his hips against his customer. He’s probably doing more than he would typically deem necessary, Bucky suspects, but then again Bucky has no idea what the job entails or what Steve gets paid for, and he doesn’t ever mean to ask.

“James,” Mark whines, obviously upset by the lack of attention. He straddles Bucky’s lap and grins down at him, all too comfortable for someone who has yet to lay his lips on Bucky. “Stop looking at the stripper. God, he’s not even doin’ a good job.” Mark’s words are kind of slurring together, so Bucky has no doubt that he’s too drunk to even realize that Steve is doing a fucking fantastic job, even for the voyeurs who aren’t getting it first hand. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

The line startles a laugh out of Bucky, and Mark frowns before leaning down and sealing his lips against Bucky’s. “Mmm, been wanting to kiss those lips since I saw you walk into the restaurant. You know you look so good.”

Bucky grins and languidly kisses him back some, all too aware that there’s every chance that Steve’s watching them right now. It’s not too enjoyable, but the way Mark tries to mimic Steve, or one up him, is amusing enough to keep Bucky grinning into Mark’s shoulder, letting Mark mistake him for the blushing prude type.

He can’t help that he keeps looking back to Steve from time to time, and that whenever Steve catches his eye and sends him a knowing smile, preening under his gaze, Bucky lets out a breathless swear. It's a dangerous game given what's been going on the past few weeks, but he can't help it. Like he said before: alcohol. 

“What the fuck?” Mark whines. “You keep looking at that guy. Am I not good enough?” He doesn’t give Bucky a second to reply before getting up and stalking over to where Steve is finishing up. Steve and Mark exchange a short conversation, in which Steve is pulling off that flirtatious edge and making Mark stutter, and eventually they end up back at the table Mark and Bucky were sharing.

Bucky’s mouth goes dry. There’s so much of Steve’s skin on show in his skimpy outfit, and it’s a little ridiculous with the leather and all, but it’s still  _Steve_.

“I hear you’ve been a little interested in my performance,” Steve purrs, and  _oh_ , that hits the spot. Bucky swallows, shifting in his seat. Steve  _knows_  what he’s doing. This isn’t fair, not after all the things they’ve gone through to decide they can only be friends, and that too not even with benefits.  _Benefits_.

Bucky clears his throat and replies, “Not at all. It’s interesting, sure, but my  _date_  here was convinced he could show me a better time.”

Steve hums, eyes roaming casually over Bucky. It makes him feel naked, and he would be more worried about the spark in Steve’s eyes if Bucky and everyone else in the club (including Mark) wasn't giving Steve the exact same look. Instead of offering to show Bucky a good time – which they both know would be a mistake – Steve turns to Mark. “What are you looking for tonight, darlin’?” Bucky’s mouth twitches, but he holds back a smile.

Mark sizes Steve up and says with a stiff upper lip, “Teach me.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up, a laugh escaping his lips. “Oh, I don’t know if you can afford a lesson from me.”

Mark throws a glance back at Bucky, then looks back to Steve. “I have a good day job, I think I can manage. What’s your name?”

Bucky’s eyes bulge, but he’s quick to remember that strippers have stage names.

“Biggy Rekt,” Steve replies with ease, and Bucky’s eyes immediately snap up to Steve’s. Steve, who’s sporting a shit-eating grin, shakes his head. “I’m kidding, it’s Johnny.”

Mark glances down the front of Steve’s body. “Well, even if it was, it’s not untrue,” he remarks. Steve raises an eyebrow, tentatively reaching out to tip Mark’s chin up so he’s not staring at Steve’s junk anymore.

“Oh honey, I’m not –”

“You’re  _not_?” Mark says in disbelief. He looks back down, and yeah no, that’s just plain ‘ol unexcited Johnny. “Holy  _shit._  Maybe your name  _should_  be Biggy Rekt.”

Steve tips his head back in a laugh, and it’s not a genuine one, but the type that seduces people with the length of his neck and gets him more money for the night. It works, too, because Mark reaches blindly for his wallet and is about to lend Steve some cash after a quick, “Please teach me,” before Bucky grabs his wrist and stops him.

Steve bites back a smile. “Mark, take a seat.” Bucky actually believes Steve’s about to grind up on his date right in front of him, but as soon as Mark’s sat down, Steve works his way over to Bucky and drags him out of his seat by his collar (and Bucky really, really has to forget that that ever happened). As soon as they’re out of earshot, Mark looking forlorn, Steve turns to Bucky with a stern look on his face and leaning into Bucky’s personal space. “What are you doing here?”

“Came to pay you a visit,” Bucky jokes, but it doesn’t go over well. It's ironic that Steve's feeling unnerved having him there when Steve pulled off that pretty unsavoury stunt at Nordstrom. “Mark the… He wanted to loosen up and brought us here.”

Steve relaxes some at that, leaning back to give Bucky some breathing space. He glances over at Mark who’s making grabby hands in Steve’s general direction and lets out a huffed laugh. “He needs to go home.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, watching Steve watch Mark. Bucky;s doing surprisingly well at keeping his eyes above Steve’s neck for the first time this night.

“Take him home,” Steve suggests, and Bucky nods. “Not ou- your apartment. Obviously. I mean unless you - ”

Bucky shivers. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Steve gives Bucky a strange look, then shakes his head and immediately slips back into character. “You should be off, sweetie. This place isn’t made for boys like you.” It’s so not-Steve that Bucky can’t help the laugh that escapes him, but the fact that it’s a bashful one where he ducks his head… well. It’s dark. Steve won’t know the difference.

“See you later,” Bucky mutters, and Steve’s lips quirk into a quick smile before he winks and leaves the scene. “Alright,” Bucky mutters to himself. “Time to deal with this mess.”

Bucky manages to grab Mark’s wallet from his back pocket in a false attempt to grope him and leads them outside, reading the address from his driver’s licence to the cab driver before handing it back. He goes home in a separate taxi.

 


End file.
